Three of the four horse men arrived unceremoniously via Bocas Marine Tours shuttle as Taxi 25 was still out of operation. We waddeled,shuffled and slogged to our diesel steed and rode it to the crazed Columbian, Louis. Louis answers every question inimitably and evasively. It is difficult to discern whether he fails to comprehend the question or if he is a master of circumlocution and redirection. "I want to see the Bay from the Mountain." "Do you want to see the gringo mansions?" "No, Louis, I want to see the FAAKING bay from the FAAKING mountain." "Do you want to see the mansions?" I bang my head on the window. Chester, please, help me out here. "It is too late to call on the fincas, perhaps we should see the mansions." Fuck me, with a stick, in the ass. Foot soup. Are you kidding me? Ahh shit, I'll pay for it. Really? Pig Knuckles and salt broth. I have died and gone to hell. Louis, you have lived far too long.
We ascend the hills over Almirante, escaping the putrid, vile, trash laden town and become one with the rain forest. Bananas, cocoa, and mangos all live in harmony, houses are nestled nearly indiscernably in the jungle.
Near the end of the road is an immaculate Gnobe town. Not a piece of litter anywhere. Gnobe towns in general are filthy, with trash smolderong trash strewn everywhere.
The next stop is Walter at Rio Septico a human excrement sludge factory.
We are warmly greeted. This place smells like a toilet. Drinks. I kid you not, a fifth of rum, a cup of ice and a can of coke. We are going to die. Lois makes a phone call. A 20 year old round faced Gnobe shows up, then a spherical Gnobe. "Call my mama!" No way. These girls are not pros? I couldn't do them for nothing.
The Chinese place was a trip, Louis banged on the tray, "these people are my clients" and he stormed out of the restaurant.
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